


Murder Barbie

by ArielleBrix



Category: Dexter (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-08-21 21:48:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16584818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArielleBrix/pseuds/ArielleBrix
Summary: Dexter wakes up as a girl at the start of Season 2. He figures out how to change back but it never lasts long. Meanwhile the FBI approaches.





	1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer:  I don’t own Dexter.  This is a fanfic. BEWARE!

 

“Who the fuck are you?”

I blinked, not the slightest bit clear what was going on.  My sister, Debra, was staring down at me as if she didn’t know who I was.  I’d been having nightmares ever since I killed my brother but this unusually vivid.  “Huh?”

“Did you break in?”

I frowned.  Was that some sort of metaphor.  

“Damn, you’re high, aren’t ya,” said Deb.  “You’re sweaty as a motherfucker, just how high are you?”  I blinked again. “Tell me who the president is.”

“Deb, it’s me.  You know me.”

“Pretty sure I don’t.  How do you know my name anyways.”  Not looking away from me she backed up and grabbed her handcuffs off the counter.  I was starting to get worried. “Damn, you do look vaguely familiar. Did I arrest you back in Vice?  Oh shit, you’re a hooker aren’t you. Did Dexter bring you home? God, I can’t BELIEVE him.”

“Deb, knock it off, you’re acting crazy.”  Noticing my voice sounded funny I cleared my throat.  

Her hand went to her hip.  “Bitch, I’m not the drugged up hooker that broke into a cop’s house to sleep.”

I didn’t know what kind of crazy role play this was or if Debra was having some sort of ice truck killer flashback but this had gone on long enough.  She couldn’t even seem to keep her lines straight, going between accusing me of bringing home hookers to talking about home invaders. “You’re out of your fucking mind.”  Shit, I hadn’t meant to say that out loud. She was right about me being sweaty. I was thirsty and hot too, though I didn’t feel sick precisely. I hoped I didn’t have a fever, I had a big day planned.

“Yeah, well, we can sort out who’s the crazy one down at the station.”  With strength I didn’t know she had she grabbed my arms and lifted all 180 pounds of me straight up off the coach.  “Shit, put some clothes on.”

She’d never made an issue of me wearing boxers to bed before.  I’d given her the bedroom, I deserved a little clothing comfort to make up for what I lacked in bedding.  Frankly after a month of her crashing at my apartment I was going a bit spare. Her habit of drinking straight out of the carton was particularly annoying.  “You do realize this is my house right?”

She rolled her eyes.  “Hard way it is.” Before I knew it she’d turned me around and slammed me against the couch, fabric rough against my skin.  I started to struggle but my limbs felt weak and uncoordinated. Seconds later the handcuffs were securely around my wrists.  Hair fell in front of my eyes as she pulled me back up. It was an odd occurrence since the last time I’d had long hair was back in college.  The purple hue reassured me that it was a wig, though I couldn’t imagine why I was wearing one.

I stumbled as she hauled me into the bedroom, sight going dark as she pulled a sweater over my head.  Even before she finished tugging it down I could tell it was her date sweater. Fine black wool weaves with generally red flowers and green vines embroidered across its surface it was actually more of a dress/sweater combo.  I’d only ever seen Deb wear it once during a midwinter date that ended in a breakup. I assumed that Miami’s weather and the bad memories associated with the outfit had kept her from donning it again. Unfortunately she seemed to have no qualms about forcing me to crossdress in it.  Considering my hands were cuffed and trapped inside the sweater behind my back I wouldn’t be getting out of it until she allowed it.

The sweater-dress was tight around my chest and hips which was to be expected considering Deb was skinny as a weed.  Strangely though it hung a bit loose around my waist, wind bobbing it against my stomach as she marched me to her car.  She’d had a little more meat around her tummy before her recent manic exercise spree but not that much.

It didn’t say much for my investigative skills but it wasn’t until she had me in the back of her car that I noticed something far stranger than my hair.  The sweater hung  _ way _ out in front of my chest, as if two grapefruit-sized balloons were stuffed underneath it.  I bounced in my seat a couple times as Deb started the car and the mounds followed me on a slight delay.  They had weight, inertia, they definitely weren’t helium balloons. Even more disturbing was that I could feel them.  Not only the tug on my chest where they were attached, but also the touch of the dress against them. I couldn’t imagine how it was possible outside of a dream or psychedelic drugs but as I watched and felt two nipples tent the fabric I began to wonder if life wasn’t stranger than I’d ever imagined.

“Deb, I’m seriously freaking out.”  Debra ignored me, but I couldn’t ignore my voice any longer.  It wasn’t something that could be fixed by simply clearing my throat, my voice had to be a full two octaves higher.  “Deb, it’s me, Dexter. I went to sleep and I woke up looking like this.” She didn’t believe me, but she was listening.  I had to sell this. I still wasn’t convinced all of this was real but it was prudent to act as if it was, and that meant I absolutely couldn’t get stuck at the station.  If they thought I was missing they’d go searching my apartment. Blood slides, knives, DNA evidence… it wouldn’t look good. Even if my body changed back my life would be over.

“Debra, sis, I’m telling the truth.  I can prove it.” Summoning up memories through the haze of dehydration I started off easy.  “Dad used to call you Pumpkin. Your favorite animal is the unicorn. You wet the bed until you were eight. You gave your virginity to Noah Br--”  The tires squealed as she brought the car to an abrupt stop in the breakdown lane.

“What the fuck.  Why would Dexter tell you those things… Christ, is that his shitty pillow talk you’re spouting off?”

“I  _ am _ Dexter.”  I shifted in my seat, but conforming to the cushions in an unusual manner.  “Can I get some water? Oh, and I think I need to pee.”

“Do you or don’t you?”

“I’m not sure,” I replied.  There was some pressure but I didn’t feel full exactly.  My heart fluttered -- something it hardly ever did -- as I surmised that things down under had probably changed as well.  I squeezed my legs together and encountered no obstruction.

“Shit,” said Debra.  Deb turned up the radio to avoid further conversation but pulled a U-turn so it seemed I was getting through to her.  I hadn’t realized just how foul-mouthed my sister was. Well, I sort of knew, but I’d gotten so used to tuning out the swears that typically my brain only registered words from her that carried actual content.  Now her words sounded sharper, my ears picking up tiny inflections I’d never noticed before that made it impossible to ignore anything she said.

Once we were back inside the apartment I looked longingly at the bathroom.  “So, can you uncuff me?” Noticing the direction of my gaze she sighed.

“Fine, but if you run I will run you down.”  She would. Deb was a scary good runner and even in my normal body I wasn’t sure I could beat her on the long haul.  

I remembered at the last moment to sit down.  I did my business with a sort of shocked calm.  Finishing up I stopped to guzzle greedily at the sink faucet.  Thirst partially vanquished, I smoothed out the borrowed thigh-length dress and went out to face the music.  

She was taller than me now.  It made me wonder why the dress didn’t hang lower.  I felt like I was showing even more leg than she had in it despite her having at least six inches on me.   _ ‘Oh.’   _ It was my curves that made up the difference, both front and back.  Convinced of the reality of the rest of my body after the bathroom visit I tugged at the indigo locks brushing my cheek.   _ ‘Not a wig.’   _ I wished I’d stopped to look in the mirror in the bathroom but at the same time I was glad I hadn’t.  

“Stop doing that,” said Debra.  I looked at her questioningly, hair twirled around my finger.  “It’s freaking me out. This whole thing is crazy, there’s no way you can be Dexter.”

“Well, I am.”

She poked my boob before jumping back as if burned.  “If this is some sick prank this is your last chance to fess up.”

“You used to lick the cream out of Oreos and hide the crackers behind your ears.”

She sighed and rested her head on the kitchen counter.  “This is so fucked up.”

“You’re telling me.”  Feeling the grip of hunger I grabbed Deb’s chocolate milk out of the fridge.  I didn’t normally go for something so sweet but I felt a craving for a glass. 

“I’ve got to work,” she said dolefully.  “ _ You’ve _ got to go to work.  What are we gonna do Dex?”

It was the first time she’d called me by name since I woke up.  It was nice to know that even in this body she still looked up to me as her big brother that could solve everything… even if she couldn’t literally look up to me anymore.  “Well, I have a ton of sick days and vacation days saved up. I can’t call in with this voice but you could tell them I have laryngitis or something. Maybe I’ll change back tomorrow.”

“Right, sure,” she replied, only halfheartedly hopeful.  “I’ll see you tonight.” She left with a thousand-yard stare, pointedly not looking back at me as she closed the door behind her.  
  
****  
I'll post to AO3 periodically. Newer chapters will be available at <https://lycelia.com/s/1c73>


	2. Chapter 2

I was alone, save for my thoughts.  Attempting to avoid even those I sat on the couch staring intently at the ceiling.  That swiftly led to fidgeting as I focused on not thinking about what an incredibly bad fit my boxers were.  After eight interminable minutes I shifted to my desk. I fiddled for a while with the chair before figuring out that it was never going to be entirely comfortable.  Getting it high enough to work on my laptop left my feet well off the ground.

I took the laptop back to the couch instead, fumbling the password twice.  I had to resort to picking at the keys one key at a time since apparently my muscle memory had gone up in smoke.  It wasn’t only that my fingers were smaller, I literally couldn’t remember how to type except in the vaguest of ways.  I didn’t want to think about what that said about my jiu jitsu, though considering I was wobbly just when walking I doubted it was anything good.  

I’d barely opened up the browser when I noticed a new issue.  With the computer on my lap the -- my -- boobs obstructed sight of the keyboard.  It wouldn’t be an issue if I could still touch-type but as things were it was something of a handicap.  Also it sort of freaked me out to watch them move as I breathed.

Moving back to the desk I placed a few textbooks on the floor to keep my feet from hanging and got comfortable.  From there I spent several hours glued to the screen as I researched everything from ancient Chinese curses to Greek mythology to voodoo.  I accomplished nothing of importance but the talk of voodoo reminded me of something very dear to my heart. “I need to kill someone.”

The change of body had done nothing to abate that need.  If anything it felt more urgent as I realized this could be my ticket to escaping Doakes.  The man had been shadowing me for so long that the Dark Passenger was starting to make my head explode.  This was perfect, well, except in the ways it wasn’t. The point was that it was kill time and I already had the perfect target planned out. [Jimmy Sensio]

I heard a giggle as I grabbed my kill tools and jumped at the sound.  A quick paranoid glance around the room reassured me that there was no giggling girls behind me and that the sound was coming from me, not that that was particularly reassuring.  Once I was sure that the giggling was done I moved onto the next step, shoes. Debra’s flip flops, to be exact. Not the greatest footwear for killing but they were the only thing that remotely fit me.  Stuffing my keys into a ridiculously small pocket I was ready to go. 

I left the apartment with a slight skip in my step, breasts bouncing along with me happily.  That all ended when I spotted Doakes’ car parked around the corner. He’d gotten cagier, not parking it in direct sight of my apartment anymore.  I’d applaud his moderate intelligence if I wasn’t so incredibly frustrated with him. Dexter (probably not healthy to refer to myself in the third person) doesn’t show up to work and Doakes’ response was to skip work as well.  Just how obsessed with me was he?

The unexpected block to my intentions made me more tempted to remove him forcibly than ever.  If I didn’t have a code he’d be on my table by day’s end. So annoying. Did he really have nothing better to do with his time than stalk me?  Even with a different body if he saw my car moving he’d likely follow it. Maybe if I got him a girlfriend he’d lay off.

I cocked my head, bemused.  That was an unusual plan of attack for me.  It was both a strength and weakness for me that I was typically extremely methodical and single-minded.  Creative out-of-the-box thinking wasn’t normally in my toolbox, but maybe it should be. Leaning against the wall just out of sight from Doakes I tried to brainstorm.

“I’ve got it.”  

Stuffing my kill tools bag under the couch cushions I picked up a paper bag instead.  Thinking over my course again I grabbed some old tongs I didn’t mind losing and put on some plastic gloves as well.  I took the back staircase and combed the lawn for goodies. Once the bag was nice and full I discarded the tongs and one glove so that I could pinch my nose.

I moved stealthily around the parking lot, taking the long way ‘round.  Doakes was parked between two large vans to try and avoid my notice but that just made it easier to sneak up on him.  Aiming carefully at his back windshield I threw the bag. Unfortunately the bag of dog shit went right through the driver window instead.  

“Agh my oh shit fuck!”  He staggered out of the car with splatter all over him.  Remembering that I  _ really _ needed to get out of sight I ran around to the other side of the van.  Dropping to the pavement I started scooting under the van, stomach up. Getting my thighs and butt under was a struggle but my bosom proved even trickier.  My weak arms struggled to squish me under. I’d nearly gotten my nipples underneath the van when Doakes’ grinning face appeared in the sky above me. 

“Surprise motherfucker.”  Inwardly screaming at the rashness of my ‘out-of-the-box’ plan I meekly let him pull me back out.  Well, I intended to.

“Don’t touch me, you smell like shit.”  It didn’t take looking at his face to know that was a terrible thing to say.  I was really off my game today. Lately my inhibitions had been a bit shot thanks to weeks of enforced murder-abstinence but even after two shot of tequila I wasn’t normally this bad.  

“Fucking wiseass aren’t you.”  Grabbing my shoulders he pulled me out less than gently.  Swiftly I found myself in handcuffs for the second time today.  Hands locked behind my back I noticed that the bottom region of the sweater-dress was heavily pilled from dragging against the pavement.  Deb would be pissed that I damaged her dress in one day. Then again with the way my curves were stretching it out that might have been inevitable.  

Seeing where this was going I quickly tried to head it off.  “Can we like, not get in your car?” He pushed me towards his dog-shit-inundated turdmobile.  “We can use my car.” Had to remember what I looked like. “I mean Dexter’s car. He gave me his keys.  I don’t mind if you drive.”

He paused, intrigued.  “You’ll let me in his car?”  I wasn’t happy about it but I didn’t have anything incriminating in the car.

“Sure, just keep your shitty hands off me.”  Damn, what happened to my filter. Was I just going to blurt out that I killed people next?

He strapped me into the passenger seat where he could keep an eye on me.  It wasn’t very comfortable with my hands stuck behind me and the seat belt on my chest made my breasts impossible to ignore.  Hopefully it was temporary but for today my dark passenger had been joined by two more buoyant passengers. “So how old are you,” he asked as investigated the empty trunk.

“It’s rude to ask a woman that.”  It was like all the frustration I built up towards him since I killed my brother and even before that was being converted into petty mischief and snark.  

“I need to know if I should call your parents or just toss you in a cell,” he replied.

I was a bit confused by the question.  I hadn’t been carded in years and my parents were dead, adopted and otherwise.  Would he guess I was Dexter if I told him my actual age? No, that would be a ridiculous jump.  “I’m thirty-seven.”

“Ha, right, sure you are.”  I squinted up at him as he unhooked me from the seat.  “We’re taking my car after all.”

“Oh come on!” I whined.  His only mercy was to open the windows after stuffing me in the back.  

“Remember that this is your own fault,” he said as he wiped off the steering wheel with a few napkins.  “And try a more believable age next time.”

I didn’t have time to ponder that before the police radio kicked on.   _ *We’ve got a jumper at Tikini Bridge.*   _

“Detective Doakes responding.”  Well, at least we weren’t headed to the station.  “So,” he said to me, “you got a name?”

Tricky question.  I said the first thing that came to mind.  “Call me D.”

“Dee? That short for something?”

“Nope,” I said.  “Just D.” 

We were only a minute from the bridge and except for two troopers were the first ones there.  The proximity was probably why he’d responded in the first place to what was most likely a suicide.

The moment he pulled over and left me alone I started working.  I wormed my way into the front seat -- careful to avoid anything brown -- and grabbed the key ring he’d taken from me.  One of the keys was held on with a paperclip that I swiftly repurposed into a lockpick. I was lacking a great deal of my finger dexterity and muscle memory but breaking out of handcuffs had been something of a hobby of mine as a teenager.  Two minutes later I was free, free and a little disturbed with what I heard outside. 

It had been awhile since I was reminded just how hopeless the police force was without the help of lab techs like myself. To be fair Doakes was considerably better than average and was about as far from the cliche of a fat-bellied donut-eating cop as could be, but he seemed to be soaking in the speculation about the woman’s suicide.  Sure there was a suicide note and she was missing her shoes but any first-year crime student could tell otherwise. Stepping out I took a deep breath of fresh air as my foot tapped at the ground. 

I should just leave, walk off while no one was looking.  That would be the smart thing to do. With no paper trail he wouldn’t know how to start finding me.  Instead I opened my big fat mouth. Honestly it  _ was  _ sort of fat, lips almost awkwardly pouty-plump and tongue a bit too long.  I was pleased to see Doakes jump when I spoke though. “It’s not a suicide.”   He’d parked inside the perimeter so it was a cinch to get past the trooper on watch.

“How’d you get out of the cuffs?” asked Doakes.

“Nevermind that.”  Doakes moved to grab me but instead of moving away I moved towards the body.  He latched onto my left arm but I pointed with my right. “Those cuts happened hours before she died, see the bruising?  Not to mention the distance from the bridge and the rotational lacerations suggests she was thrown.” 

“Don’t you mean pushed?” asked the exceedingly plain-faced cop.

“Nope,” my ‘p’ popped a bit too cheerily for the situation.  “Definitely thrown, and by someone quite strong. Like my friend here.” I indicated Doakes with a tilt of my hip.  Doakes’ grip on my arm tightened but I ignored him. “Actually…” I looked back at my captor. “May I get a bit closer?  There’s something funny about the abrasion pattern.” 

He glared at me but obliged.  

“Yep, thought so.  She was either dead or unconscious before she hit the ground.  Or paralyzed, I suppose. I’d need some time in the lab to be sure but from the blood pattern I’d guess dead.  Oh, can I have a sandwich?” I was still getting used my body but the growling from my stomach had clued me in to the fact that I was very very hungry.


	3. Chapter 3

D3

Authors Note -  Changed my mind, Dexter’s 37 and Debra’s 33 years old

Think I might go with a slight Ranma cross unless peeps prefer he stay female 100% of the time.

*

The trooper was dumbfounded but Doakes appeared to just be intensely curious.  “Well you heard the girl,” said Doakes. “Go get her a sandwich.” After pausing a moment to make sure he was serious the trooper stumbled off leaving the two of us alone.

“So…” I started without knowing what to say next.  “Err, do you want to keep going? I could dust for prints up top?  The killer might have grabbed the railing to watch her fall. Or I could grab some gloves and check her for like, the cause of death or whatever.”  Was I imagining it or was I saying ‘like’ more often than usual. Actually I couldn’t remember the last time I used the word before today.

“You…” he pushed me over to a small boulder on the beach, “are going to sit here and not move an inch until I figure out who you are.”

I was going to need a sleeping bag if he was serious about that.  I didn’t worry though. Now that I’d confirmed it as a homicide my sister would be here soon and straighten things out… somehow or another.

Kicking off the oversized flip flops I dug my toes in the sand.  It was an experience that hardly even registered in my memory in the past.  Actually that was true of most things that didn’t involve blood, or the hunting and killing of my prey.  Shadows virtually devoid of emotion, data but no substance. But not this. This simple thing felt  _ real. _

Another thing that felt real-ly annoying were my boxers.  Just an incredibly bad fit all around, they felt like they were digging grooves into my hips.  Finally determined to do something about it I crouched behind the boulder. They chose that moment to split down the back.  It would have been more if annoying if I didn’t intend to take them off anyways. I’d heard some women wore boxers but these were basically plastered to my buttocks and the less said about the front the better.  It was only with great difficulty that I managed to pull them off while crouched out of sight. Wary of what someone might say if they saw me carrying them I buried the boxers in the sand.

“Jesus Dex.” I jumped a little as Deb sat down beside me.  “I left you alone for one morning and you got yourself arrested.  Are you as dumb as you look now or what?”

I bristled at her insinuation.  I didn’t typically have a lot of emotions but I did have my pride. “He’s been stalking me for weeks.  He deserved that bag of dog poo.” 

“A bag of…” her head tilted.  “That’s what you did? No wonder he didn’t want to talk about it.”

I put the flip flops back on as Masuka headed towards us.  It was better to have more clothes on than less around him even as a man, and that was triply so as a woman.  He greeted me from a comfortable ten feet away. “Hey, new girl.” His eyes drifted to my cleavage but thankfully didn’t linger long.  “Your analysis was spot on. Where’d you study?”

I looked to Deb for help but found none.  “Err, self-study. Like, the library and stuff.  And I borrowed some of Dexter’s books.”

“You know the Dex-meister?”

“She’s his daughter,” blurted Deb.

I looked at her in disbelief.  I thought she’d gotten over her habit of completely fucking up her words when under pressure.  Well, I had to go along with it now. Did I really look young enough to pass for my own daughter?  This wasn’t going to work. No one would believe that I’d been hiding some secret daughter all these years.

“Hmm, you’re a lot prettier than he is.”

“Okay.”  I wasn’t sure what to think of that.  

“Lay off her Vince, she’s seventeen,” said Deb.

Jumping off the boulder I pulled her off to the side for a whispered conversation.  “I am  _ not _ a kid.”

“It’ll keep you from getting hit on as much,” she replied.  “And if you’re lucky Doakes might let you off with a warning if he thinks you’re underaged.”

I didn’t care that she made a bit of sense, I wasn’t willing to give up the freedoms that came with being an adult.  Still, while I had yet to see my face, reactions from others proved that going by my real age was impossible. Turning back to Vince Masuka I said, “I’m eighteen last Tuesday.  Aunt Deb forgot.” It felt really weird to call my little sister Aunt but I went with it. I’d been acting for decades, this was just a slightly different role. “Call me D.”

“Legal, awesome.”  He adjusted his glasses which I knew was preparation for a joke, likely a bad one.  “Dexter, Debra, Dee. You Morgans are big fans of the D, aren’t you.” 

He did  _ not _ just hip thrust at me.  Maybe I should have gone with Deb’s idea after all.  

“So, Masuka,” said Debra.  “Can she follow along with you?  Dexter told me to watch her today but I had to go to work.  Next thing I knew she threw dog shit in Doakes’ car. Keep an eye on her for me?” She walked off and left me to the wolf without waiting for an answer.

Masuka gave me a once-over.  “Hmm, a troublemaker. Well, just don’t mess up the crime scene and you can cause whatever mischief you want.”  

From there things quieted down.  Masuka even let me use the high-resolution camera which made me feel almost normal.  The camera got heavy before too long though. My arms were rather pitifully weak. Still, I was feeling confident.  Initially Masuka had started lecturing me about everything forensic but after I started completing his sentences he switched to quizzing me instead.  Embarrassingly I was rusty on a number of topics (alas, the perils of specialization) which made me feel like a bit of a schmuck but when it came to blood I was flawless as usual.

There were far more cameras around than I was comfortable with.  Not that I was unfamiliar with news crews filming crime scenes but normally I was just a bland lab tech in the background.  Now it felt like a number of the cameramen were more interested in me than the dead body or Doakes, the lead detective. It wouldn’t be long before they started asking questions about why a young blue-haired girl was hanging out with the homicide division.  I had to think of a way to blend in.

“Umm, Mr. Masuka, can I be your intern.”

He seemed surprised.  “I can’t. If you were a grad student then maybe but this is the best damn department in Florida.  I can’t hire just anyone.” A hint of sadness on my face made him justify himself further. “Are you even out of high school?”

“Yes,” I said instantly, though I swiftly realized I couldn’t prove it.

“Well, you seem like you’re even smarter than your old man.  Study hard in college and maybe I’ll see you in a few years.”

I sighed.  Sometimes I forgot that Vince had this super serious, head of forensics side to him.  I’d just have to appeal to his reason. “Some studies show that work experience is far more useful on the job than any college or graduate degree.  You wouldn’t have to pay me anything and in no time at all I guarantee I’d be totally up to speed, like, I promise.”

“I’d love to, but I can’t.”

“Fine.”  I turned and walked away, absolutely not in a huff.   _ ‘This sweater-dress feels awfully breezy in the back.’ _  It was probably just my over-sensitive new skin acting up.  

“Ichangedmymind!” cried Masuka.

I jumped back around.  “You did?”

“You can be a consultant.  It won’t pay much and you won’t be officially affiliated with the department but I’ll bring you in when I can.”

“Thankyou thankyou!”   _ ‘Why am I hugging him?’ _  It had just… happened, before I could assert conscious control.  Thankfully Masuka was just as shocked as I was. I swiftly released him and backed away before he could recover.  

Debra pulled me away from the awkward silence moments later.  “Dex-Dee!” she hissed. “What did you do to my dress? There’s a big hole in the ass.”  My hands jumped to my backside and the reason for the breeziness was swiftly revealed. No wonder Masuka changed his mind when I walked away.  “Go sit in my car, I’ll take you home in a few minutes.”

I was perturbed that she was treating me like a disobedient child but I couldn’t say she was being unreasonable.  “What about Doakes?”

“I talked to him,” she said.  “I agreed to do some of his paperwork and he agreed not to press charges for quote ‘Dexter’s spawn.’  You owe me a big for this.”

“Right, sure.”  Hands covering the skin exposed by the dress’s hole I marched to her car.   __‘Where the heck is that sandwich?’  
  
****

More chapters available at <https://lycelia.com/s/1c73>


	4. Chapter 4

**Chap 4**

 

“Dee, you stink.  Second we’re home you need to take a shower.”

I stared grumpily out of the car window.  “We’re alone now, you can call me by my real name.”  Everyone was treating me like an irresponsible child.  Well, except Masuka who spent half his time treating me like a sex object.  If I could just kill someone I knew I’d feel better, feel in control of my life again.

“Right, sure Dex.”  She turned onto the side street that led to the apartment.  “Have you thought about what might have changed you?”

“Nothing could have in the course of one night,” I replied.  “This whole thing is scientifically impossible.”

“Well, it happened, so think back to what you were doing last night.”

She was going all detective on me which freaked out the serial killer in me but it wasn’t a bad plan.  My memories of the previous night were hazy but as I focused they began to clear. I’d been at Rita’s, the kids were staying with a friend of hers from work.  We’d had a nice dinner, one that many would call romantic. She’d skipped the wine but we still had sex afterwards. It wasn’t as satisfying as killing but it was nice and it helped take the edge off.  It was a reminder that even if Doakes was ruining my extra-curricular activities I still had a life outside of that which wasn’t entirely hollow.

I laid on the bed afterwards, tempted to nap.  Pondering again whether I could have genuine feelings I poked at my proto-feelings for Debra and Rita and the kids.  I wasn’t human but I had some small bit of hope that I might someday become a real boy. Then Rita turned to me and said, “Dexter, I’m pregnant.”

“... Dexter, Dexter!”  Deb slapped me, hard. I became aware that she’d already parked and walked around to open my door.  Had I been hyperventilating? Undoing the seatbelt I stood, dazed.

“Rita’s pregnant.”  I grabbed my sister in an awkward hug to stay standing as I lost feeling in my legs.  

“Dex, keep it together.”  She kicked the car door shut behind me, remarkably keeping her balance while holding us both up.  “Are you saying--”

“I’m going to be a father.”

“Or something,” murmured Debra.  She helped me back into the apartment and plopped us on the couch.  Thankfully I landed on the side with the kill tools. I didn’t want to think about how things might of gone if Deb had landed on the lumpy cushion.  “So basically you got so freaked out last night that you turned yourself into a woman?”

“Maybe?”  I wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

“Let’s get you in the shower.  You’ll feel better when you’re clean.”  I considered protesting when she started pulling the dress over my head but I felt drained of energy.  Besides, we were both women. Nothing strange about this, women got naked together all the time. I just had to resign myself and step into the hot shower.

The steaming water filled me with strength and vigor but it was a bit too hot.  I jumped back out, water splashing Deb (still clothed). Something was different.  I felt -- “I’m me again.” 

“Christ Dex, cover yourself.”  Eyes averted she tossed a towel at my crotch and rushed out of the bathroom.  

Needing a minute to recalibrate I decided to finish the shower.  When I finally left the bathroom I was relaxed, refreshed, and had a towel securely fixed around my waist.  All was right with the world. I still needed to kill somebody but otherwise I felt much calmer.

Deb was back on the couch.  I needed to move those kill tools sooner rather than later.  I couldn’t believe I’d been so careless. I stayed calm though, face more or less expressionless as was my usual.

“So,” she said, pointedly keeping her eyes above my neck.  “I guess you’re definitely Dexter.”

“You doubted me?”  I’d thought I convinced her.  

“Of course I did.  It’s not every day you see bloody  _ magic _ .”

“Well, I’m back to normal now,” I replied. 

She grimaced.  “Dexter, this isn’t all just going to blow over.  We’re going to need to make a paper trail for Dee, come up with a story for where she came from and why she left; hell, we don’t even know if you’ll transform back into her.”

“I won’t.  It was a fluke.”

“You don’t know that.”  

I ignored her, moving into the kitchen area.  It was time for an extremely belated breakfast.  Not wanting to wait for anything to cook I grabbed an apple and washed it under the faucet.  As the water ran over my hand my fingers seemed to thin, fingernails glistening like pearls through the stream.  It wasn’t a trick of the light. I withdrew from the water, apple clasped in too-slender fingers. 

Deb came up beside me, taking my hand in hers.  “Is this what I think it is?” she asked, examining my hand by touch as well as sight.  Its skin was far more sensitive than my other hand, every slight touch from Debra clearly registered.  I couldn’t remember if I’d had nail polish as Dee before but they were sparkling now. “What triggered it?”

“I don’t know.”  I was… a bit freaked out.  An alien appendage sat at the end of my arm, mocking me with its weakness.  A machete in place of my hand I could maybe get used to but this was just absurdly feminine.  And not a strong, butch feminine like my sister but rather the sort that could break a nail from lifting a gallon of milk.  How could I strangle a man with hands like these?  
“Think about what you were doing.  What was running through your brain?”

“Nothing,” I replied.  “I was just hungry and started washing the apple.”  

Deb filled a small glass of water.  I was surprised she’d given up interrogating me already though I didn’t blame her for wanting a drink.  Personally I was favoring the idea of something stronger but I knew Deb had been off alcohol of late. 

I spluttered as she threw the water directly in my face.  “Deb what the he--” I clutched my throat, voice suddenly high and girlish again.  I could feel long wet hair pasting itself to my neck. Looking down I watched, hypnotized, as drops of water ran down my chest.  Wherever they passed, my tan and hairy chest swiftly turned golden and smooth. My eyes grew hot and blurry.

“I knew it!” squealed Deb.  “Water turns you into a girl.”  Wetting her finger she drew an ‘S’ on my shoulder, skin changing as she went.  “Woah, Dexter, are you crying?”

“I’m a freak.”

“You’re not a freak.”  She awkwardly patted my shoulder.  “It’s gonna be okay. Come on Dex, you know I can’t deal with crying chicks.”

I giggled but it was half sniffles.  “That’s not funny.”

“It sort of was.”  She turned, switching the faucet on again.  “Put your hand under it again, I want to see something.”  Obediently I moved to do so. “Not that hand, the one that’s already changed.”  

The water was quite hot, stinging slightly just before my hand retook its manly form.  Strangely it didn’t feel as right as it should. My whole body felt off like an ill-fitting hairy suit.  Was it because my head was currently female? That suggested the change was doing more to me mentally than I wanted to believe.  Maybe I just felt funny from accidentally using Deb’s soap. Yeah, that was it. 

“I’m on a roll today,” said Deb.  “Cold water makes you a girl and hot water changes you back.  That doesn’t sound so bad.” Easy for her to say. “Why do you smell like mint?”

I took two quick steps away from her sniffer, arms crossing over my chest.  “I’m going to take another hot shower.” I pulled my arms to my side despite feeling a little uneasy.  Something in the back of mind was telling me I had boobs even though I most certainly did  _ not _ .  

“I’m going back to the station,” said Deb.  “You going to be alright for a few hours alone?”

“Totes.”

“Totes?”

I wasn’t sure why I’d said it but I knew what it meant.  Short for ‘totally’, obvious enough to anyone not a square.  “Like, yeppers.” That wasn’t what I meant to say. “You know, err, perfecto -- nevermind.”  I rushed into the bathroom to escape her eyes. I was starting to flush in embarrassment. Somehow everything I tried to say was coming out ditsy.

“See you in a few,” she called to me as she left.

Waiting on the water to heat up again I watched my wet hand anxiously.  The water had cooled significantly and the hand underneath was looking quite effeminate.  I toweled it off quickly before it could become fully female. Drying off might be as important as hot water in the future if this didn’t go away.  I might have to consider buying more towels.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chap 5**

Once I felt I had my head on straight both literally and metaphorically I stepped out of the shower to face the day.  It was foolish but I felt a little jealous of Deb. It was only her third day back on the job after a month’s absence.  I was supposed to be helping her get back in the swing of things and instead I was the one falling apart.

Brushing off those useless thoughts I grabbed up my towel -- still damp.  Useless, I suspected. Provided Deb had done the wash recently there was probably a fresh one in her room.  That was to say  _ my _ room that she’d been squatting in for far too long.

It was only a few steps.  With the shades closed I didn’t bother to hold the damp towel around me but instead sped naked to my room as was my right as the owner of this bachelor pad.  The air was chill against against my wet skin. It was midwinter in Miami and this was one of the rare days that the weather had dipped below sixty. Sadly my apartment only had air conditioning, not heat.

She hadn’t done the laundry.  Giving up on finding a dry towel I grabbed a handful of her shirts instead as revenge.  I rubbed them against my body, careful to get every last drop of water. I caught a reflection of myself in the window when I felt I’d finished.  I looked like me, which was reassuring. There were a few discrepancies. My hair was a touch more wild, a slight tint of blue visible in the tips.  Below my eyebrows things took the opposite turn. No five o’clock shadow to be seen despite not shaving since yesterday morning. My body hair was shorter and blonder than I remembered.  Still, essentially I was myself again.

I considered jumping in the shower again to erase the last hint of otherness but enough was enough.  Dressing quickly I checked outside for Doakes. The coast was clear far as the eye could see. Thinking back I couldn’t quite figure out the thought process that had led me to throw dog shit in his car but it had worked out in the end.  It would take him all day to get his car cleaned and in the meantime I was free to do as I pleased. 

It wasn’t long before I was cruising the highway.  A little stop at a hardware store for plastic and trash bags later and I was all set to kill.  I turned onto the back streets of Miami, motels and waffle houses giving way to run-down apartments and hole-in-the-wall restaurants.  I parked at my target’s live-in shop, back of my car close to the door. 

It was the middle of the day.  Not ideal but this was a neighborhood where most people did their shopping at night after they got home from work.  Pretty much everyone was either working or at school at this hour. There was always risk but I’d vetted both the man and the house weeks ago as I waited for my opportunity.  

I turned the sign around to ‘closed’ as I walked inside, bells ringing.  My target walked out to his desk to greet me, wholly unaware of his fate.  Disappointing considering his profession. “I’m looking for a death curse.”

Ah, he was a little wary now.  Tempted though. If I could prove my bona fides he’d sell me one for sure, but that wasn’t what I was here for.  “We don’t sell that sort of dark mojo ‘round here. You have better luck down at the docks.”

“I think you do,  _ Jimmy Sensio _ .”  I drew out the syringe as I stocked closer.  Him being blind took a lot of the fun out of it.  This would be entirely too easy. “Ricin, wasn’t it?  Your poison of choice?”

“I don’t know what you is talking abou’.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to turn you in.”  I removed the cap on the syringe, just steps away now.  “I’m just going to kill you.” I lunged. Much to my surprise the sixty-year-old blind man ducked like a meercat.  Tripping over him I thumped hard into the shelves behind him. Falling to the floor after that actually helped as it got me in range of his leg.  Not the perfect entrance point but a few seconds later the tranquilizer did its job. More troublesome was the big bucket of swamp water that tipped off the shelf above me.

“Yuck.”  I knew he did weird voodoo stuff but what possible use did he have for swamp water.  I was drenched head to toe in the stuff, which brought difficulties beyond just the smell.  My wet shirt stuck uncomfortably to my breasts and my jeans were nearly bursting at the seams.  I went to pick at my shirt when I saw something quite disturbing. 

“Leech!”  Big black and red devil-spawned leeches all over me.  Flight response hit me instantly. I tripped twice, once over Jimmy and a second time thanks to my oversized shoes, but I made it outside.  I stripped out of my leech-covered shirt and started furiously scrubbing every inch of skin, jeans and hair until I was certain all the leeches were off me.  Then I kept going for another minute until I noticed a middle-aged black woman giving me the evil eye.

_ ‘Darn it.’  _ I’d made far too much of a fuss.  There was no way that woman would forget I was here in a million years and I couldn’t be certain that others hadn’t seen my freakout.  I had to call it off. Frankly it wasn’t the best planned kill to begin with. Doakes and the trauma of seeing Deb wrapped in plastic on the table and then killing my brother must have affected my judgement.  

I’d never called off a kill this late in the process before but theoretically there was nothing stopping me.  He was blind and hadn’t seen my face. He’d wake up in an hour or two with nothing but a needle mark to show for it.  Possibly incriminating if I left any stray fingerprints behind but he wasn’t the sort of man to go running to the cops.  Far too many skeletons in his closet for that.

My own bones  _ ached _ to put him six feet under but instead I walked away.  I came within inches of grabbing my shirt back up off the ground but the possibility of there still being a leech hiding in it stopped me in my tracks.   _ ‘Ugh.’   _ Not wanting to become a tourist attraction I jumped back in the car and after a little seat adjustment I was on my way.  

Driving topless made for nice movies but it wasn’t entirely enjoyable.  Not only was there the worry that I’d get pulled over and the story would somehow get back to Deb, it was just plain physically uncomfortable.  The seat was sticky against my wet back and the belt was digging into my boobs. It was even pushing the left one into my arm which made turning the wheel more difficult.  

I decided to take a pit stop at a nearby beach.  Thanks to the rocks and poisonous black sea urchins it wasn’t too popular with tourists but as usual there were a few locals around.  Also as was typical, they were all topless or entirely nude. Even with my exotic hair color I only got a few looks from afar as I stepped out of my vehicle.  I was a little tempted to cross my arms to hide my breasts but that would just make me stick out more. Considering until thirty minutes ago I had nothing to hide I wasn’t sure why I felt the impulse at all.  Cultural shame contagion, I supposed. 

The nice thing about this beach --besides the scenery-- was that no cops came by.  Not in uniform anyways. Public nudity was technically illegal but it was such a local tradition on this beach that no officer wanted to ruin it for fear of backlash from their friends and family.  This made it not a terrible place to dispose of the evidence.

It probably wasn’t necessary to get rid of the plastic but it would be at least a couple days before I could vet another target and I was getting nervous driving around with it.  Far more nervous than I was about standing on the beach without a shirt now that I’d had a minute to get used to it. Normally having plastic in my trunk wouldn’t be such a big deal but I had Deb at home, Doakes stalking me, and I didn’t even have a driver’s license for this form.  

Sweating a little from the weight I dumped forty bucks worth of plastic sheeting into the nearby garbage can.  Suspicious if anyone saw it but hardly criminal. No blood on these, for once. The knives and cleavers in my car were worrying me as well.  Did I really need so many ways to kill a person? What was the point of a cleaver that could cut through bone when I typically used a power tool anyways.  Honestly, having so many with me made me look like some sort of crazy serial killer… which I sort of was, but I prided myself on being a  _ smart _ serial killer.

Looking over the tools I tried to decide which ones I actually needed.  They were all wonderfully bright and shiny and capable of beautiful death.  It was painful to give any of them up but I really did have too many. Just lifting the pouch of them strained my muscles.  I was disturbingly weak as a girl but if I transformed mid-kill again I had to be prepared. Having items I couldn’t lift wouldn’t do me any good.

I ended up choosing a pocketknife and the small machete.  The machete was a little iffy but they were both relatively common items for Florida citizens.  I stowed the machete in the trunk and the folding knife in my pocket. Then I took a walk through the coconut trees and buried the rest of my tools in a shallow grave.  Well, I would have if my delicate hands were remotely up to the task of digging. 

A longer walk took me into a swampy nest of mangrove trees.  I kept a wary eye out for spiders and ants and threw the pack of knives into the first watery pit I found, titanium blades sinking into the depths.  I rushed back out to the pebbled beach as quickly as my poorly fitted shoes would carry me. Besides insects there were gators and snakes and who knew what else in mangrove swamps.  No one would be finding those knives.

I kicked off my loose shoes, toes curling in a patch of sand near the coconut trees.  If I walked about a mile up the beach I’d hit a small touristy boardwalk. Still enough topless European girls for me to sort of fit in and it would give me a chance to buy a new shirt.

I briefly entertained the idea of washing my old shirt in the ocean until the salt took care of the leeches but it didn’t much appeal to me.  It seemed a little girlish and silly to be so freaked out by leeches but I assured myself that my fear had a practical component. After all, I had no idea where those leeches had been or who they’d been sucking on.

Leaving thoughts of aquatic bloodsuckers behind I set out on my quest.  The breeze off the water smelled of salt, warm but not oppressive. The sun-warmed sand kept the January chill away despite my lacking attire though I did worry about the sun.  It might be worth buying some suntan lotion when I bought a top but I doubted I’d be in trouble so long as I didn’t tarry. My skin was more golden than white so while I’d still burn it wasn’t like I was a ginger vampire.  

I tried running briefly though I swiftly ran out of breath.  It didn’t hurt though to run without breast support which surprised me considering what I’d heard about big-chested ladies -- a group that I’d somehow found myself a part of.  Maybe it was because running in sand didn’t have the same kickback as running on pavement. Either that or they didn’t know how to run and were doing a fast up-and-down jog rather than an actual almost-flying propel-you-forward run.  I’d have to do more research. If it was practical research I’d have to find a more out of the way spot though since even at several hundred yards distance there were some men watching my cans wobble around.

I kept my head down as I reached a crowded section of beach.  Even so I swore I could feel eyes on me, could see feet turning my direction. By the time I hit the boardwalk I’d done what I’d resisted before and crossed my arms over my breasts to hide as much as I could. There were men following me now I was sure of it. Not wanting to get cornered I walked past the clothing shops and sped up my pace until I was running full-out.

I took back what I’d said previous, it definitely hurt to run without a bra. Each jarring impact of my feet against the pavement sent them painfully bobbing the opposite direction until I started to feel nauseous.  I glanced behind me, fear turning my followers into indistinct blobs with shadowed faces. The realization that I was afraid was enough to edge me over into terrified because I hadn’t felt an emotion this strong for longer than I could remember and it felt like I was losing my--

I drew the pocket knife, flicking open the blade as I turned down an alley. It was real, it was certainty. Guided by my hand it would bring death to bad people. In their death I would find peace, self temporarily subsumed in the moment as I made the world a better place. Even if my body changed this was still my purpose.  
  
\--

End chapter 5  
More of this is posted at https://lycelia.com/s/1c73  
You can find some of my non-fanfic works at https://www.ariellebrix.com


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